nexus_crossings | write what you know

As a lover of human literature, Aziraphale is naturally drawn to writers, eager to keep their company (and obtain signed first editions, if at all possible.) This is the first time he's seen a writer set up in the Plaza. The typewriter is a very nice touch. He reads over the sign, then smiles warmly at Esther.

"What a lovely idea. There are so many stories to be told in the Nexus. I, ah... I have something I could share, but it spans over six thousand years, and I don't want to monopolize your time."

Esther smiles.

"I've got all day, and I'm very quick at typing," she replies. "Is it an epic of sorts, I'm guessing?"

"Well, it's... it's more of a love story, actually."

Aziraphale's smile turns a bit shy as he sits down in a comfortable chair that just happens to be next to Esther's desk. "It's about an angel and a demon, heredity enemies who become best friends. Their relationship has a few snags along the way, but ultimately it's their love for one another that saves them both. And, ah... as I said, it might take a while to tell, but I'll pay handsomely for your time and writing skills."

"That sounds like a fantastic story," she says, grinning. "Please, go on. I'm ready."

She places her fingers over the keys of the typewriter, poised to begin typing.

Aziraphale beams, all at once excited and nervous that someone will be putting his story down to paper. Some of that's been done before, of course, in religious texts and elsewhere, but it's never been directly from the horse's mouth -- or the angel's mouth, in this case.

"The story starts in a garden. The garden. The humans had just been cast out of Eden and the angel was watching them leave. He was sad to see them go, and worried for them, of course, but at the same time he knew that it was all part of God's ineffable plan.

Then, a... a very large serpent slithered up the wall to join the angel. He was a demon, but the angel was not afraid. The damage had already been done, you see, so the angel didn't see any need to fight, and neither did the demon, actually. He simply took his human form -- a rather lovely form, I might add, not grotesque at all. He had immaculate black wings and long, flowing red hair. His eyes were still that of a serpent's, but they were a beautiful yellow, and anyway I -- I mean, the angel, he was rather fond of snakes, anyway."

He pauses a moment, peering at Esther's typewriter. "You're getting this all down, dear? Especially the red hair, that's important."

Esther listens and types, listens and types, dutifully noting Aziraphale's descriptions.

She nods when he interrupts.

"I've got it all, yes, especially the bit about the hair," she replies, smiling. "Descriptions are very important, I agree."

"Oh, excellent." He flashes her a quick smile before looking off into the distance. "Let's see, where was I...

"Ah, yes. The angel and the demon, they spent a little time together on the wall, and when the first rain appeared on Earth, the angel sheltered the demon with a wing. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, much like -- um. Well, let's just say that the angel had the habit of doing what he thought was right as opposed to what he was told Upstairs. Just as the demon had a habit of doing the sort of mischief that gives humans a choice, as opposed to... well, the traditional things that demons do."

Aziraphale clears his throat. It's important to establish state of mind for the 'characters' of his story, but he's getting a bit off-track.

"Anyway, after the rain, they parted ways, but over the millennia, they kept running into one another. It's a bit of a lonely life, surrounded by mortals, so it's nice to have someone to talk to now and then about... non-mortal things. And every time they spoke, their friendship grew, until they became best friends."

He pauses a moment and adds, "What they didn't realize -- you might want to use an omniscient narrator for this story, actually, now that I think about it -- is that they were also falling in love with another. A romantic sort of love, but as the angel assumed he couldn't experience romantic love, and the demon assumed that he couldn't experience love at all... well, it took them an embarrassingly long time to figure that out."

"Hmm, the omniscient narrator might be a good idea, agreed," Esther says, nodding. "It's a beautiful story so far. Very compelling!"

She continues to type.

"I can always go back and retype and revise later. It's good to just get the first draft done, though."

Aziraphale smiles bashfully at the compliment. "Oh... thank you... and, really, you should write it however you see fit. You're the writer, after all."

...he says as he keeps peering at her typewriter. Although he is trying his hardest not to be a backseat writer. He's simply nervous at letting his and Crowley's story out into the world, but it feels good -- almost cathartic -- to share it.

"Let's see, ah... well, by the late 1800s, they had grown very close. The angel had opened a bookshop, and the demon visited him often. They spent a lot of time together, and one day..." He swallows, finding it harder to share this part. "One day, at a nearby park, the demon asked the angel for some holy water. As insurance, he said, in case his side found out about us and came after him.

"Well, the angel... didn't take it very well. At first he thought the demon was treating it like a suicide pill, and then he thought, perhaps, that he was being used a little, as the demon didn't care much for other demons to begin with."

Aziraphale sighs and clasps his hands together. "But the truth is... the angel was afraid. He was afraid of the demon accidentally destroying himself, but he was also afraid of those huge feelings that the thought stirred up within him. He exchanged some harsh words with the demon and then stormed off. They didn't speak for... well, it wasn't very long in the grand scheme of things, but it felt like forever to the angel. It took a war for them to truly reconcile and for the angel to finally realize that he loved the demon, at least platonically speaking."

A small person--only a little over four feet tall--with pointed ears and large dark eyes pauses to read the sign. He looks a little harried already as he approaches, and his first response to the offer is a deep, frustrated sigh. "How are you at writing history papers?" he half-grumbles. "Because I got shoved into a group project with the slackers, as usual, and I've already done all the research."

He's probably not really serious. Probably. Maybe.

Esther peers down at the small person, frowning a little. She's a little nervous about doing someone else's homework for them.

"I could be better," she admits, sighing. "But if you've already done all the research..."

"Well," he hesitates, because he was suggesting mostly tongue-in-cheek, and there are some logistical details that would make it weird to hire a human woman to write his homework. Still, now that he's started the discussion it might be worth completing it.

"I suppose I should add it's not Earth history. You look human, so I assumed you came from Earth. I apologize if that's wrong. Either way though, you're not from my planet so it might be foreign history to you." Although maybe that would make it more interesting to write?

He looks around for a place to sit and ends up perching on a low wall nearby. "It's about some of the early legislative efforts of the Mage's Council on my planet, with a focus on one particular person whose contributions tend to be overlooked. I've done the research and I have a rough outline, but Colbis is doing the presentation and won't help write, and I don't even know what Hanniah is up to because she won't return my texts. She was supposed to do the final draft, and I'm going to be so mad if my work goes to waste."

"...but I guess it's sort of a dry subject, unless you're into politics."

Oh God, politics, Esther thinks. She's quickly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

"Um," she begins, getting a fresh sheet of paper out for her typewriter, "Well, can you explain it in layman's terms? Then I can make it...well, I can add all the embellishments."

"Really? I can pay whatever you need--well, I shouldn't say it like that, I don't have infinite money, but I'm pretty sure I can give you a fair rate." He eyes her typewriter curiously. "That's not a computer at all. It just uses paper and ink? I don't think we use those where I come from."

He reaches into the bag he carries at his hip and pulls out a small, square pad with a leather cover. Flipping it open reveals a sleek, flat box of metal and plastic, and if Esther has seen people using tablets, or Starfleet folks with padds, this is very similar. A couple taps of his fingers lights the screen up, and opens up a file with the outline he's already made.

"After the Revolution, the Mage's Council was the only governing body we had for a little over a decade. Their first priorities were reconstruction, but one of the big things they did was dividing territories that had once been owned by mining corporations into governable provinces. The person I'm writing about, her name was Eilyss Pridwyn. She did a lot of the travel and surveying to enable the borders to be drawn. And she was by all accounts kind of a character. Hard-drinking, hated people in general, and she was especially bitter toward the Council, in fact, but she did the work anyway."

((Please forgive the infodump. We can handwave to whatever degree you want. He can and will go on like this for hours if Esther lets him.))

"It's called a typewriter," Esther explains. "It's what we use where I come from. I'm curious about computers, though. Haven't used one yet."

She peers at the outline, her face glowing from the light of the screen.

"I see," she says, and begins to type. Unfortunately, she makes a small typo, and—

"Oh, damn it!" She didn't really mean to curse, but Esther's a touch ticked off at herself for making that mistake.

"Sorry, I have to start over." She sighs, pulling the typo-ed paper out of her typewriter. "This doesn't usually happen to me."

[ooc: it's cool! This might be a good lesson for Esther, lol.]

"It's a pretty little machine," Rondo says of the typewriter. "But I suppose you can't send articles directly from it. You'd have to scan them into an electronic system first."

Which he can do, fortunately.

He blinks in surprise when she swears, though the curse word doesn't particularly bother him. Her taking the paper out seems to bewilder him, though. "Wait, you have to start the whole page over when that happens? That's...uh, that seems like a lot of work. Do you want me to teach you how to use the word processor on my comm-pad?"

Esther looks at the comm-pad, then looks back at the typewriter.

"Um, maybe..." Her mouth twists. "I do like my typewriter, but it's terribly annoying when I make a mistake."

Belial often walked through the plaza. As a diplomat he likes to stay abreast of the types of people, races and species that have come and gone. It is his duties but also a natural curiosity. It is a small push from Nychta on his shoulder that gets his attention. The hawk cocks its head at the sign and then looks to it's black winged master.

It was an idea, and a good one. It couldn't hurt to ask. "Good afternoon, I need some help. It isn't a story but I think it might be enjoyable."

It's easy to see that his eyes are hazy white with blindness and he's looking straight ahead instead of at the seated woman. The black hawk is staring at her intently.

Esther is a little nervous about the hawk's steady gaze, but decides that this person's not dangerous, so why not indulge him?

"Well, go on then," she says, encouraging him to continue. "What do you need help with?"

"I am tasked with cataloging the life here in the Nexus. I am a superb illustrator but I could use a writer to help get the descriptions into words." It was an enormous task for sure and would take time but it was a very unique request.

Edited 2020-08-27 22:18 (UTC)

"That sounds fascinating," she replies, and she means it. "I love botany and animals and all those sorts of things. I would love to help you."

"If you want to see the illustrations we can go now, or schedule a time." Belial is fairly relaxed about this project because it will take quite some time to even get the illustrations done.

He pauses briefly before nodding his head to her. "I am High Chancellor Belial."

"I would love to see them sometime! We should schedule something soon. And it's nice to meet you. I'm Esther."

"Do you know where our vila is located?" Belial asks with a smile, something rare to see. "I live there when I'm in the Nexus."

"Oh, that depends on a lot of things. Most of my story is far too long and complex for most mortals to be able to understand."

Loki, out within the Plaza, could not but help answer her question as he was passing. Dressed in his usual leather Asgardian armour with all the finery of the prince that he was. Thorkitty was not atop his shoulder today but playing back at the apartment in his home-made run. The god was alone and obviously now wondering who she was and what made her ask him such a thing. Was she a seeker of stories? If so, then perhaps she would get more than she bargained for with Loki.

"It's a problem when you're over a thousand years old and a god."

Esther cocks an eyebrow. This man doesn't sound quite all there, although she's heard rumors of immortals in the Nexus. She still kind of thinks he's bluffing, though.

"Oh? Do tell."

If Loki found out she'd been thinking that about him then he'd have more than a few words to say about that. He is very much all there, thank you very much. As for bluffing? Oh no. This man means what he says down to every silver word he speaks. He pushed some hair back and studied her expression, wondering who she exactly was.

"What part do you wish to know? The tales are long and I doubt you have all day. They are awfully good stories though regarding my achievements."

Would he tell her about his failed invasion attempt? Perhaps not the parts he did not wish admit but the good bits. Of course he would boast of his achievements to a mortal who sought his company.

"I've got all day," Esther admits, shrugging. "Tell me your best story. I want all the good details."

She was a woman of leisure clearly judging by her tone. She wanted a good story, oh, Loki could tell them like the best. Yet, would he indulge her that far? The mortal writer obviously wanted something to hold onto and possibly to pry into his life. This was something he was still unsure about.

"The best? But there are so many good ones. It's so hard to pick when you're the god of lies and trickster of Asgard."

Was he teasing? Only just a little.

"Ah! Just the human I was looking for. I think we can help each other."

A creature which looks vaguely like a toothy alien dinosaur approaches, teeth bared in a friendly grin. He's pretty sure most humans haven't met Skeksis, so the Heretic is trying not to come on too hard.

"I am skekGra the Heretic, and I would like to ask if I could have a second pair of eyes do some editing work on my latest opera. I have a partner working with me, but he's too slow, and I'm getting impatient. If you help me, I'll make sure you're paid for it." He's holding a tight bundle of paper scrolls under one of his primary arms.

Esther stiffens at the sight of the unusual creature, but remembers that yes, the Nexus is full of very odd and strange beings.

"An opera? That sounds like a daunting task," she replies, attempting a friendly smile. "I could possibly help."

To skekGra, humans are strange beings, though he's not exactly scared of them. There are none on his home planet, after all.

"Thank you! I'll give you a manuscript, then." The Skeksis offers Esther one of the bundled scrolls. "It doesn't really matter which you choose."

She nods and takes one of the manuscripts.

"I'll give it a look over and see what I can do," Esther replies.

"Thank you. My other half and I live in a house on the border to the Wilds."

skekGra and urGoh chose a place that's close to the inhabited area for safety's sake.

"I've never been out there," Esther admits. "Is it safe? I've heard stories."

"urGoh and I live out there," the Skeksis says. "We keep close to the town, mostly - there are people and animals there who aren't friendly deeper in, so you need to watch your step."

"Would I need some sort of escort to get out there safely?" she asks.

Allura approaches Esther, interested. This is fascinating. Is she a writer?

"You'd do that for people? That's amazing. People's stories can often get very long."

Edited 2020-08-29 06:45 (UTC)

"I don't think it's amazing..." Esther replies, her mouth twisting a little in embarrassment. "It's just a skill I have. I'm a writer. I write."

"I think it's a great talent, nevertheless."

Edited 2020-09-01 08:59 (UTC)

"It's kind of more of a compulsion than anything else, frankly," she says, shrugging.

"Sounds like a good hobby. Maybe I could ask you to write down a story, if you're willing. For posterity."

The Princess grins. She hasn't really thought about it much, before.

Edited 2020-09-05 07:01 (UTC)

"I wouldn't mind. It's what I'm here for." She really does have all day; no plans on the horizon for her.

"Then maybe I could tell you a little about Voltron. So that other Universes know to call on Voltron, too, if they ever need legendary defenders!"

She's all into it, excited at the idea of helping other Realities, too. Genuintely wanting to help everyone in need.

"That sounds like a good idea. What's the story?"

She's poised to type.

"Where should I begin? Probably with new Paladins, because the story I'm about to tell is about them, and they're still here, but, wouldn't it be a little confusing to start in the middle?"

A little embarassed, Princess Allura ponders this. Finally, she takes a deep breath, and begins:

"I shall start a bit earlier. Ten thousand years ago, the planet Altea and another nation, the Galra Empire, with which Altea was closely allied, prospered. It was an age of discover, and age of new technological and magical advancements, and era of peace and prosperity. In case of any threat, the Paladins of Voltron acted swiftly."

"Voltron is a robot, made when five sentient mechanical Lions come together. The Paladins are their pilots. The King of Altea was one of the Paladins. The Emperor of Galra was one, too. They were allies, and-- brothers in arms, friends, or at least King Alfor of Altea had been quite certain they were."

"Everything changed the day Zarkon's wife, an Altean scientist, Honerva, succumbed to quintessence poisoning. She had been researching quintessence - energy - so dangerous one should never research it so freely, and my father, king Alfor, had warned her of that many a time. She, however, wouldn't listen."

"Fearing the loss of his wife, Zarkon had proposed a certain plan for which he needed all the Paladins of Voltron. They gladly agreed to help their brother in arms."

"However, what he proposed was not what he truly needed in order to save his wife. And he had betrayed all the other Paladins, using Voltron to do something they'd never approve of."

"As a result, he and Honerva died. That was not, however, the end. Only the beginning which was also an end of an era."

Allura pauses.

"As I was almost a young adult woman by the time it all happened, I knew Zarkon and Honerva. Honerva even had babysat me a few tiems. Naturally, I did not know them as well as my father did. What happened next, we could never have expected to happen. Fueled by the dark quintessence, Zarkon and Honerva rose from the dead."

Edited 2020-09-27 14:25 (UTC)

There is a nordic youth looking at her sign, a slightly puzzled look on his face for a moment, though the expression quite quickly shifts to a smile.

"If you're looking for stories I've been collecting them!" he informs her brightly, "I've written a whole bunch down in my journal from people around the Nexus. When it's full I'm going to put it in the library here."

...Hopefully! He hasn't actually... asked the library yet. A future problem though.

"Would you like to see?"

"That'd be neat," Esther replies, smiling back at him. "What stories have you found so far?"

write what you know - or not

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